


Libertine Impulses

by Keitmeg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s11e22 We Happy Few, Hugs, Hurt Sam, Implied Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Implied Sexual Content, Jealous Sam Winchester, Lucifer is a Little Shit, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Possessive Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:29:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6904033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keitmeg/pseuds/Keitmeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set before We Happy Few by one night.<br/>Sam immerses in some 'me' time in the bunker's lab, but Lucifer doesn't really let him have it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Libertine Impulses

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy!

 

 

 

 **W** ith God crashing in one of the spare rooms after pulling an all-nighter and Lucifer plundering the farthest room from his father which just so happened to be Sam’s, the latter had no other choice but to look for somewhere else to stay.

The bunker’s dormitory has a lot of rooms to offer and a lot is still waiting to be discovered, but Sam isn’t really free as to dredge up the secrets of the bunker right now, he is more worried about Lucifer taking _his_ room of all the rooms inside. And if he’s a little honest with himself, taking a trip down the memory lane is the last activity he wants to succumb to. But with Lucifer locking himself inside Sam’s room and doing whatever he pleases isn’t exactly doing it for Sam. And it brings back memories.

Being locked with The Prince of Darkness, in The Cage that’s been cast in the depths of Hell by God himself, and living the torment Lucifer placed on him for almost two hundred years. Sam couldn’t really keep the flow of some of the memories from his time _there_ from overshadowing him.

Since Dean is in the kitchen fixing them something to eat, Sam decides to continue reading this book he found a few days ago stacked at the bottom of one of the shelves in the library. Doing his best to ignore this little drama God and his Archangel son have going on. This whole thing is ridiculous, Sam thinks.

When he turns the page, he sees an image of a set of vintage bottles and it reminds him of something he’s seen before back in the chemistry lab where those personae non gratae Dorothy and the witch of OZ popped out one day.

He looks over his shoulder and it doesn’t seem like Dean is done yet, or going to be anytime soon for that matter, so he seizes the chance to sate his childish curiosity discovering the bunker, now of all times.

In order to go to the lab he has to walk through the corridor, and walk past Dean’s room, and when he reaches the kitchen he flings a lazy ‘hey, I’m at the chemistry lab if you need me’ in his deep and raspy voice when Dean hums waving a lackadaisical hand over his shoulder, Sam continues to walk ahead. He pauses when he reaches his locked room and hears the music blasting through the door, his eyes rolling indignantly because of all things, Lucifer wants to play the little spoiled teenage girl this time around as seeing that giving his father the cold shoulder wasn’t very much of an appealing strategy.

Sam shakes his head, this is his life now, and continues to walk through the corridor until he reaches his destination.

He saunters in a leisurely manner, eying and admiring the ancient and most likely valuable elements lined over the large table. He lets his hand ghost over some different-sized beakers and flasks, finally settling his hand over a wash bottle. Looking around now, he finds the bookcase more interesting, so he walks over to it with a faint smile of happiness.

“Sam” he says in a singsong voice.

As weird it is to admit but he’s heard this tone of voice more than he’d heard his brother’s because nearly two hundred years in The Cage kinda does that to a person.

Sam swivels around so quickly that he bumps his elbow with some items and they tip over. His brows scrunch and his eyes widen, and he isn’t ashamed to show just how terrified he is to be alone with Lucifer who’s standing a stride away from him.

“Now that’s a lovely look on your face” Lucifer hums, cocking his head with a wicked smirk.

“What’ you doing here?” Sam inquires, wetting his thin lips and swallowing his hesitation.

Lucifer looks around at their surroundings, his fingers twining in front of his groins. “Outmoded, archaic, in need of a little renovation if you ask me, but doesn’t look bad” he sighs a little and darts his eyes on Sam’s again, “it suits you.”

“Why can’t I believe you waltzing in to give me your feedback on a bunker that’s existed before the fifties is why you’re here?” Sam’s brow twitch and he clenches his hands into fists beside his hips. “What’ you want?”

“Sam, I’m offended.” The smirk on Lucifer’s face grows predatory as he untwines his fingers and bolts forward. Sam makes an aborted movement with his two hands, prompting the other man to stay where he is and not get closer, but since when does Lucifer listen. “I care about you, alright?”

Sam juts his head upwards just slightly to show his disdain, his dimples making a temporary appearance when he smirks. “We’ve come a long way now, Lucifer, and I know what your ‘care’ stands for.”

Lucifer looks keenly into Sam’s hazel eyes, searchingly too if Sam didn’t avoid the other’s eyes that unjustly belonged to their friend Castiel.

“I know we’ve had our” he pauses, wetting his lips as he grapples for the words, “disagreements” he concludes and it makes Sam snort his vexation. “But Sam” he presses closer and the latter feels his body frame tense more, “I’m not here to hurt you.” He almost looks apologetic.

“Huh” Sam scoffs, “that’s exactly what you said the last time you lured me to limbo and had me caged again, _and_ I ended up with a few bruises all over,” his tone is accusatory by now, “what makes you think I’ll fall for it this time?”

As silence grows, Sam grows impatient with it. He wants to seek an outlet and just flee with his dignity still intact because he hasn’t crumbled down yet, even in the presence of Lucifer, his nightmare. And he kind of proves it when he shuffles, ready to set his plan on motion but a marble hand on his chest pushes him back against the bookcase. “Sam” it’s a whined grumble, and his hot breath rakes over Sam’s jawline, “that was hardly painful, I roughed you up a little bit, yes” he nods, “but I didn’t hurt you.”

Sam looks impossibly small by now as he shrinks into himself, tides of undesirable memories wash over him without a break and he eventually approves of Lucifer’s statement. Compared to the things he’s undergone back in The Pit, the little accident in Rowena’s makeshift cage seem very insignificant, more or less.

“Besides” Lucifer grins sheepishly and it really doesn’t look good on Castiel’s face, “you’ve invited me here, and we can share the room, just like old times.” The hand he had on Sam’s chest slides up in the lightest of touches to Sam’s collarbone, thumping the area with utter ease. “Am I right, roomie?”

“Don’t touch me.” Sam croaks out, puffing his reedy little chest out angrily.

Lucifer gives a wry smile, “I taught you how to ask nicely, didn’t I?”

Sam’s face is braced with lucid shock, “I’m not going to be _beg_ you” he utters with a hint of distaste.

Lucifer rolls his eyes, “Yes, you are.” He states in a matter-of-factly tone.

“Lucifer” Sam musters his courage even though he knows he’d turn to a pile of bloody guts with one snap of fingers, “I told you I’d rather watch my friends and family die than become your bitch, and I’m pretty impervious to your influence now, so there you have its.”

A scowl creases Lucifer’s forehead, and Sam knows what used to happen after Lucifer had that scowl over his face. He sweeps that hand towards the other’s neck, long fingers wrapping around the skin and pressing the jutted veins back in. “I can do this all day” he notes out, fixating on Sam’s flushed face, “after all, you are my favorite toy, Sam.”

The said male shuffles under the pressure on his neck, and for a moment, he fears his coming decision of gripping Lucifer’s forearm just to ease some of the pressure would only trigger more violence from the assaulter, but he concludes that if he doesn’t do anything now, he’s going to pay the price.

Lucifer’s other unoccupied hand darts forward and he runs his fingers through the chestnut hair, making soft noises at the feel of smooth strands against his vessel’s skin. And when Sam’s hand grip on his forearm, he smirks in delight, he eyes the other’s face color changing to bet red, and he smirks even more. “Charming.” He comments, gradually easing the pressure on Sam’s neck.

Sam’s strangled groans crescendo to muffled moans.

“What the hell is going on here?”

_Dean!_

Sam wouldn’t mistake that voice for anything. He’ll be forever grateful for its owner as long as he lives because it managed to get the hand on his neck away. So he slumps to the back, taking in large lungful of humid air, but he’s a survivor, he’ll take whatever he’s offered.

Dean bolts in his usual arrogant treads, and he takes in the sight of Lucifer being unnaturally close to his brother. And only then does it sink in the history the other two have got going on together.

“I _said_ ” he repeats in an enraged voice, “what the hell is going on here?” He asks, enunciating every word.

“Libertine impulses,” Lucifer offers, he winks at Sam after glancing one last look at Dean’s goggle eyes, “believe me, Sam, after this Amara fever breaks, you’ll be the focus of all my attention.” Smirking after he’s whispered that promise, Lucifer licks his lips and eyes the lab one more time, and finally, he scouts closer to Dean, using his cold glare to threaten his vessel’s best friend, “Dean” he bows his head slightly, and easily walks past him, bumping his shoulder intentionally on the way.

When Lucifer evacuates the room, Sam’s legs almost buckle in relief.

Dean looks back at him, “mind explaining what happened here?” Saying so, he walks closer to his brother.

Sam shakes his head, his hand rubbing at his neck absentmindedly, “nothing” he rasps out, “nothing happened.”

Dean scrutinizes at his brother’s body, going after the slightest tremors of discomfort, and that’s when he sees the scars over his neck. “Did he…” he touches the abused skin and it doesn’t go undetected by him how his brother flinches. “Sam, you need to be honest with me, man” he starts, his voice relenting with assurance just to imply how safe it is now that Dean is with him, “these bruises,” he caresses the said bruises, and rejoices inwardly when Sam presses against his touch, demanding more, “did he hurt you anywhere else?”

Sam shakes his head again, eyes roaming about, “I –I’m…“ he falters, “Dean, he…” he glues his eyes onto the floor because it’s safest than facing his brother’s wrath, “he still scares the crap out of me, but I didn’t run” he raises his gaze to his brother now, “I wanted to though, you know.”

Dean can see it all over his brother. Sam didn’t just feel scared, he even looked like it as well. And it broke Dean’s heart every time his brother had to withstand being around Lucifer. Nobody gets tossed to the pit with two pissed off Archangels for hundreds of years and still make it back unscratched, and in this case, the cuts run deeper than any Angel power could heal. But Sam is a great individual, he’s learned to adapt and self-heal his psychological wounds all by himself. However, Lucifer never intended on making it better for Sam, popping at their doorstep in ever given opportunity just to needle his little brother and rub him the wrong way, and right now, Dean is pretty sure that was literal.

“Come here” he resigns with a full bodied sigh, pulling his brother from the neck down to his own chest.

Sam rests his forehead on his brother’s muscled shoulders, wrapping his arms around his middle. The leather-whiskey-pie fragrance embalms all the air and he relishes the privacy that had him wrapped in his brother’s arms away from Lucifer’s claws.

Dean doesn’t care if he’s God’s favorite, he’ll issue a restraining order on Lucifer from his father.

"From now on, we'll do things together, you never leave my sight, understand?" He urges, his hands rubbing his Sasquatch of a brother on the back. Sam nods his head fervently, for once, he won't mind Dean going all possessive mode-on.

No one hurts his Sammy and expect to get away with it.

And he proves it at night when he drags Sam to his room, makes love to him until Sam’s moans penetrate the walls and invade Lucifer’s. Reminding him just to whom the Winchesters belong, and that is to each other and nobody else.

Lucifer takes his revenge when he piques on Sam’s jealousy the next day, bringing up the Darkness in a flippant manner that exasperates the two brothers in different ways.

They’re even now.


End file.
